Farns stopped and then took another step, as if unsure whether to continue. “I’m not entirely sure how to answer that.”
“Why? I’m sure I’m not the first slave Vinemont has owned.”
“I, ah. Well, miss, you are the first Acquisition we’ve had for the past twenty years, if that’s what you mean.”
“Acquisition? I keep hearing that word. What does it even mean? Is it some code so you don’t have to say ‘slave’?”
He turned toward me, his eyes kind. He made it hard for me to be cross with him. “I take it Mr. Sinclair hasn’t explained the Acquisition trials to you yet?”
“There are trials?”
“Yes, there are.” Vinemont strode down the hall toward us. “And if you would come downstairs to breakfast, I would explain them to you.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “What’s the rush?”
“Farns.” Vinemont’s gaze darkened and he waved the butler away.
Farns hesitated and then obeyed, retreating back the way we’d come until it was just Vinemont and me. He wore another pair of dark jeans with a black t-shirt, his inked vines snaking down his arms from beneath the fabric. In the morning light, I saw they were a deep green, small leaves done in an emerald, and vicious thorns done in almost black.
He gripped my upper arm and yanked me to walk alongside him.
“Hey—”
“You are testing my patience, Stella.” He stopped and pushed me up against the wall. His eyes bored into me. “Don’t ask Farns questions like that. He can’t help you.”
“I can ask whatever the hell I want.” The cocktail of emotions roiling inside me had made me bold, even in the face of Vinemont’s wrath.
His gaze travelled over my face, down to my lips and then back to my eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
He gripped my hair and pulled my head to the side. His mouth was at my ear again, his Southern drawl whispering darkly to me. “I thought I made it clear that I own you now. You do as I say. If you don’t, I’ll make sure your father feels the brunt of your punishment.”
He stepped into me, pressing my back into the wall and crushing me painfully. I yelped at the sudden aggression. He clapped his free hand over my mouth. I hit ineffectually at his sides, his back. I even tried to knee him, but he took advantage of my efforts and pushed one of his large thighs between my legs and lifted so I was straddling him.
“Fuck.” It was a gravelly whisper.
My heart beat faster and faster, panic welling up inside and drowning out any other emotion. He was going to hurt me. Right here, right now in this sunny hallway.
He pulled my hair harder and harder until I thought he would rip it out. I stopped struggling.
“Better. Here’s how this is going to go, Stella. You are going to stop trying to make trouble. You are going to do as you’re told. This year will pass by much easier for you if you just follow my orders. You can fight me.” His lips moved down to my neck, a hairsbreadth from making contact. “And I’m not going to lie, I like it when you fight. It makes this easier for me. But you won’t like the results.”
He released me and backed away. He ran a hand through his hair as he continued to stare me down. My heart hammered, demanding that I run as far and as fast as I could.
He licked his lips, reminding me of a hungry killer that had scented blood. My blood. I shivered under his gaze, hating that my nipples had hardened from the sensation of him rubbing against me.
Vinemont stabbed a finger in the air in the direction he’d come. “Go.”
I bolted from the wall and tore down the hallway. I found the stairs to my right and maneuvered down them so quickly I almost fell on the second landing. His steps sounded behind me, heavy and deliberate.
I whirled when I reached the bottom, my stomach growling from the smell of food on the air. I turned right, spotting the front door. I didn’t make a choice. My body made it for me.
I ran to the door and wrenched it open. I took off across the porch and down the stairs. The morning sun made the wide expanse of grass seem manageable. The air was crisp, fall had finally settled even this far south.
My sneakers barely touched the pavement of the driveway before I was treading on the soft earth. I ran as hard as I could. I was small. I would make it to the trees and hide. Just curl up somewhere in the roots of a cypress or maybe even climb and hide in the branches. Maybe Vinemont was lying about having the judge in his pocket. Maybe I could go to the police or someone else. I was desperate to believe it as I hurtled through the sunlit lawn.